


Police at the Coffee Shop

by wheel_pen



Series: Malachite [3]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the town of Small Valley, Malachite causes trouble while protecting another slave, Ahnah. Fortunately his owner, Luks, is the leader of the country now and can bail him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Police at the Coffee Shop

            He could feel Ahnah shivering beside him—from nerves, not cold, he supposed, given the relative warmth of the coffee shop now that it was filled with people. He wanted to offer her some kind of comfort or reassurance, but frankly he didn’t know what he’d say; anyway, the sheriff was keeping a sharp eye on the two of them, and he knew he shouldn’t move or speak out of turn. Malachite didn’t think he’d be very good at offering comfort anyway—he was still angry and wanted very much to give the others in the room, especially the three errant customers who had started this mess, a glare that would have them backing away in fright; but again, he knew his place was to keep his eyes down, even if his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

            He could hear one of the troublemakers talking to the police on the other side of the room but couldn’t quite make out the words; no doubt it was some lie about how Malachite had started it all. Well, he wasn’t worried; Luks would straighten it all out when he got here. Malachite just hoped his master wasn’t too angry at him—surely he would see the younger man’s side of the story, if it were properly explained. Malachite was just worried about what his punishment might be—not a beating, Luks wouldn’t do that out of anger, but he might forbid the boy to leave the estate for a few days... or weeks, if any criminal proceedings resulted. Malachite realized with a pang that he’d rather be beaten than be forbidden to see the people he had—not “become friends with,” because that was too presumptuous to say, especially with freepeople like the Sevileris or Chulyin—but become used to.

            A shadow fell across Malachite and Ahnah where they knelt and he risked a glance upwards through his lashes to see a 40ish woman with a severely displeased expression staring down at the teenage girl.

            “Ahnah, I _cannot_ believe this!” she began in barely-contained outrage.

            “I’m so sorry, Nilak—“ Ahnah replied tremulously, and Malachite realized the older woman must be Ahnah’s owner/aunt.

            “The _police_ called to my shop!” Nilak continued angrily. “The whole valley will be talking about this for weeks!”

            “I’m sorry, Nilak, but I-I _had_ to call them,” Ahnah tried to explain. “Those three men were very—disagreeable, and—“

            “Then _you_ should have been _more_ agreeable!” Nilak snapped. “I _thought_ I could trust you to close up the shop at night without panicking and calling the police the first time someone wasn’t ready to leave when _you_ wanted to go home!”

            “But, Nilak!” Ahnah protested, craning her neck to look up at her aunt, “they were _angry_ , and—“

            “And you just _happened_ to have one of your little friends here, after hours—that _boy_ —ready to make things even _worse_!” Nilak interrupted, glancing coldly at Malachite.

            “He was just trying to protect me—“

            “Protect you?” the older woman scoffed. Ahnah’s head dropped back down in defeat and her slender shoulders sagged. Malachite’s jaw tightened in anger. “Protect you from _what_? Your own poor judgment? Your own selfishness? Your own rudeness?”

            He couldn’t take it any longer and sprang to his feet. “It _wasn’t_ her fault!” Malachite insisted, towering over the businesswoman. He knew he had suddenly drawn the attention of every police officer in the room, but he didn’t care. “They were breaking things, they were going to hurt her!”

            Nilak stared at him, obviously nervous but also furious that a slave had dared to speak to her. “Hey, boy,” the sheriff said in her sharp, steely tone, “you get back down and wait for your turn!”

            Malachite turned on her next, but to her credit she didn’t flinch under his blazing glare. “I’m tired of waiting for my turn!” he snapped at her. “You’ve been talking to _those_ jerks”—the three customers blanched a little at his angry gaze—“for over an hour, and they’re probably all _lying_ to you—“

            “Boy,” the sheriff interrupted in a warning tone, “you _get back down_.” Malachite saw a couple of deputies moving in behind her, heard a couple more coming up in back, but he figured his odds of getting outside were actually pretty good, because none of them likely knew how to fight as well as he did—

            “Malachite.” Everyone turned towards the voice, which came from the surprisingly young man in an expensive suit who lounged in the doorway as if _he_ owned the place—which he did, in a sense, or would someday anyway. Luks raised one dark eyebrow, staring straight at Malachite, and the teenager choked back his next declaration of defiance and dropped to his knees beside Ahnah. He felt her fingers tentatively brush his own in a gesture of thanks before quickly stilling.

            The others in the room had stiffened when they saw their national leader appear in the shop, but the sheriff at least refused to be overly intimidated. “Mr. Premier,” she greeted coolly as Lex approached. “Your boy here could be in some trouble.”

            “Really.” Luks sounded as if he couldn’t imagine anything resembling real trouble could be found in Small Valley, and Malachite tried to refrain from smirking. He’d be home in fifteen minutes—or less.

            The dark-haired young leader stepped in front of Malachite and glanced over the girl beside him appraisingly, then turned to the older woman. “You must be Ahnah’s aunt,” he surmised pleasantly, shaking hands with a slightly flustered Nilak. Although the Premier had technically resided in Small Valley for several months in a row now, he was rarely found in any of the local businesses and few citizens had actually met him.

            “Um, yes, I’m—uh—Nilak Tenka,” Nilak finally stuttered.

            Satisfied, Luks turned his attention to Malachite, tipping the boy’s bright green eyes up to meet his own steel blue ones. “And just _what_ have you been up to this evening?” he asked tolerantly.

            “It wasn’t our fault!” Malachite assured him earnestly. “Those guys”—he turned and pointed accusingly across the room—“wouldn’t leave, and they were _pushing_ her, they were going to _hurt_ her.”

            There was no need for Luks to ask who “her” referred to. “And naturally you intervened.”

            “Well, of course.” To Malachite that course of action was the only choice in such a situation.

            “Your boy is far too aggressive,” Nilak ventured tightly. Luks glanced back at her slowly, as if he had forgotten she was still in the room. The woman tugged Ahnah to her feet and started to lead her away. “He won’t be allowed in here anymore. And I don’t want him associating with Ahnah.”

            Luks saw the teenage girl’s almond-shaped eyes widen in distress at this pronouncement, but before he could fully analyze the expression his view was blocked by Malachite jumping in front of him. “You just _try_ and keep me away, you old—“ The boy felt the pressure of Luks’s hand on his arm and cut himself off. He imagined Nilak understood how he felt on the matter, just from the blaze of fury in his eyes.

            “Of course, Ms. Tenka, if that’s what you want,” Luks assured her smoothly, placing himself between the 6’4” slave and the object of his wrath. “Although I think my boy’s presence here this evening saved your niece from a vicious attack.”

            Ahnah looked hopefully at her aunt, not daring to nod, but Nilak just straightened her coat and made a show of bundling the girl up in her own pink jacket. “Yes, well, that’s _his_ version of the story, isn’t it, Mr. Premier,” she replied crisply. “Sheriff, I hope you’ll let us go now. Surely you know where to find us if you have any questions.”

            The sheriff glanced up from the notes her deputy had handed her. “Yes, ma’am, you’re free to go,” she confirmed. “Those three over there confessed to starting the trouble”—Malachite smugly crossed his arms over his chest—“so come ‘round the station tomorrow and fill out some paperwork to get your damages paid.”

            Nilak glanced from the sheriff to Luks to Ahnah, neatly avoiding Malachite. “Well, thank you, Sheriff, I’ll certainly do that,” she responded. “Come on, Ahnah.”

            Luks felt Malachite bristle behind him, indignant that she wasn’t even going to _comment_ on being wrong about him. “Ms. Tenka,” Luks called after her, forcing the older woman to stop and turn back. “In light of Malachite’s ‘version of the story’ being the correct one”—his tone was somehow perfectly bland, but the expression on the boy behind him was superior enough for both of them—“I hope you’ll rescind your ban on his presence here.”

            It was _practically_ an official order, and even Nilak Tenka wasn’t stubborn enough to defy it. But she wasn’t going to give in gracefully. “Of course, Mr. Premier, if that’s what _you_ want,” she repeated back to him, her tone just barely respectful.

            “Good.” Luks turned his back on her abruptly, dismissing her from his presence. Malachite watched with grim satisfaction as the woman scurried away, dragging Ahnah behind her. He loved watching his master throw his weight around... especially when it benefited _him_ in some way. “Sheriff, do you have any further need of us?” Luks continued politely.

            “No, sir, I guess that about wraps it up,” the sheriff decided, somewhat reluctantly. Luks started to steer Malachite towards the door when she called back, “Although, could I have a quick word with you, sir?” The sheriff gave a significant look and Luks gestured for Malachite to remain a few feet away as he rejoined the older woman. The boy scuffed his feet against the floor impatiently.

            “Yes, Sheriff?”

            “Ms. Tenka’s got a point,” she began seriously, and Luks’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. “I’ve seen your boy around town before and he _is_ quite aggressive.”

            “Doesn’t bow and scrape before every freeperson he sees, you mean?” Luks replied with a smirk.

            “No, sir,” the sheriff countered, refusing to lighten her mood. “I mean he’s aggressive. Barges into places, demands things, gets upset when he doesn’t get his way.”

            “Have you had complaints?” Luks asked her pointedly, already knowing the answer.

            “No, sir,” she admitted. “But he’s got trouble written _all_ over him. Could be dangerous.”

            Luks’s smile grew. “Sheriff, I appreciate your vigilance,” he assured her, “but why do you think I got him?” Luks shook the woman’s hand firmly, collected Malachite, and strode outside to his waiting limo.


End file.
